


Sword-Finder

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [80]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossed Streams, Drabble, Gen, Prompt Fic, Qunlat, conlang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptfic. Grey Warden/Short Taarbas Natia Brosca and Following Fate Taarbas/Taarbashok, the call of duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword-Finder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taffia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taffia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sword-Bearer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/364521) by [Maybethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings). 



“Something tells me one of us isn’t supposed to be here,” Taarbas muses as she stares down the kossith before her—or stares up at him, rather. The horned kossith is bedecked with the warpaint of the antaam, and were it not for the scar on his back, she would have sworn he was the Kithshok from the honour guard of the previous Arishok—Sten’s Arishok, the one she never did get to meet after all. “You are Taarbas?”

“I was made so,” he replies. “And yet you also claim my role.”

“The new Arishok sent me here,” she counters, brows raised.

“A _vashkata_ , before this?”

“Actually, no. Not even _vashaad_. The Arishok-in-waiting is a _vaarad_.” She nearly trips on the double A’s. “And humour me here, brother—when I say ‘Serah Hawke’, what comes to mind?”

His eyes narrow a little, as if trying to bring an image to mind. “A tall woman—so.” He raises his hand up to about his chest. “With red hair, and—why do you ask me this?”

“Because that—” she gestures discreetly behind her at the burly, bearded man with a streak of warpaint over his nose and a beard to rival any Ben-Hassrath’s—“is the _basalit-an_ I’ve been dealing with for three months. _That’s_ Hawke, and I’ve not seen your red-haired lady ever.”

The two stand in silence for a while, the look in the kossith Taarbas’ eyes cycling between despair and confusion. Finally, the dwarven one sighs, switching to Qunlat. “Come, standing around gets us nowhere. I have lodgings in town where we can talk. And for convenience’s sake, call me Natia. It’s an old name, but I’ll still answer to it.”

“What happens now?” he murmured, partly to himself.

“Brother, if I can find a single lost blade in a country at war, we can both find a way to get you back home,” she says with a lopsided grin.


End file.
